The Forbidden Room
by leo writer
Summary: *complete* This is my first story. It's my interpretation of the legend of Bluebeard. Told from the point of view of one of his wives, who is a strong female character. Please review.


The Forbidden Room  
The night I met Captain Blue was a stormy evening in March. The sea outside tossed and turned as if it were having a bad dream, and the wind blew harshly. The fire inside my room jumped and leaped gracefully as drops of water fell down the chimney. Jenny, my servant, was attacking my wet hair with a comb. Her sister, Janice, was fanning my hair, trying to dry it.  
ÒSilly girl,Ó Jenny reprimanded, Òtaking a walk in the rain.Ó I couldnÕt see her face, but I knew her eyes were flashing angrily.  
ÒIt wasnÕt raining when I started out,Ó I mumbled, defending myself. Jenny grunted disapprovingly. A series of deep rings announced one of the guests.  
ÒOh! Dear me, it will never dry!Ó Jenny grabbed a handful of pins from the dresser and began furiously pinning my hair up on my head, as flat as she could. ÒJanice, get the tresses,Ó she commanded.   
She pinned on the wig, and I was suddenly acutely aware of the pins sticking into my scalp. Jenny guided me to the hallway. She kissed me on the cheek and whispered, ÒBehave yourself.Ó I silently walked downstairs, hoping my mother wouldnÕt scold me for being late.  
They were waiting for me in one of our most comfortable rooms. I peeked in without letting them see me. A man and my brother Henry were deep in conversation. HenryÕs wife, Georgiana, was talking with my mother, who had my sister Anna seated beside her, stitching a handkerchief. My younger brother Jonathan fidgeted in a chair.  
I walked into the room and smiled warmly at the guests. My mother immediately greeted me enthusiastically. ÒCatherine, my dear, sit down in the chair near Captain Blue. He has heard so much about you and dearly wanted to meet you, so I invited him to dinner.Ó The man talking with my brother turned and smiled. He was not young, but his black hair had no signs of gray. I approached him. He stood and kissed my hand; his rough facial hair scratched my skin. To my surprise, I noticed his beard was blue. I wondered how I had missed it at first glance.  
ÒCatherine,Ó he said, his voice deep and mysterious.  
ÒCaptain Blue,Ó I murmured.  
ÒPlease, call me George,Ó he allowed, and I replied with a nod and smile.  
At the dining table I observed the Captain. He was probably a good fifteen or sixteen years older then me, 34 or 35. I found he had an interesting face, though he wasnÕt particularly handsome. It had odd indentations and scars; even from a distance you could tell it was used to sun, wind, and salt water. His eyes were light blue, and seemed to capture every movement, thought, and feeling that flitted toward it. His blue beard was his most prominent feature. It was not only original, but wild and exciting to. It made him seem lighthearted and carefree.  
After dinner Mother and George pressured me to sing. I was urged on until I stood and Henry took out a wooden flute. He began to play a local folk song, easy to play and easy to sing. I smiled at him when we finished.  
ÒThat was wonderful, Catherine. You sing like a bird,Ó George said as I sipped cool water.  
ÒA crow, perhaps,Ó I laughed.  
ÒNo, a lark,Ó he replied emphatically, and took my hand. He looked me in the eye, and I felt suddenly vulnerable as I stared into the blue depths. I blushed and drew my hand away. I squirmed in my seat for an awkward moment.  
ÒWell, we must be going,Ó Henry began.  
ÒSo soon?Ó implored my mother. ÒJust listen to that storm.Ó  
ÒYes, IÕm afraid I should too,Ó agreed the Captain. ÒI have to get up at four-thirty to beat the early bird to the fish.Ó He laughed.  
Captain Blue, my brother, and his wife went to the door after saying good night to my mother. At the door Georgiana took my hand and said warmly, ÒGoodbye dear.Ó  
My brother kissed me lightly on the forehead and said, ÒGood night.Ó  
ÒMay I come tomorrow afternoon to see you,Ó George Blue asked.  
ÒOf course,Ó I replied. He smiled at me, and left for his horse. For a few minutes after that, I still felt his gaze upon my face.  
In my room that night, Jenny expressed concern. ÒI donÕt like him,Ó she scolded. ÒDo you know how many wives he has had? Twelve, you would be the thirteenth and that is an unlucky number!Ó She ripped out the pins from my hair.  
I remained calm. ÒJenny, IÕm not superstitious. Besides, IÕm old enough to take care of myself.Ó At this Jenny yanked harder with the brush she was combing my damp hair with. She had raised me since I was four years old.  
ÒMiss Catherine, do you know any of the stories about him?Ó her voice sunk to a whisper. ÒThey say heÕs an ogre. One maid told me that he ate his other wives. That beard is proof; only an ogre could have a blue beard!Ó She tied my braid with a strip of ribbon.  
ÒPish posh,Ó my voice rang out. ÒNo such thing. IÕm sure he doesnÕt want to have a blue beard. ItÕs not his fault. Besides, ogreÕs are not real. If they ever lived they are gone now.Ó I wondered why I was defending this man IÕd just met. I felt his stare on my face again.  
ÒMy goodness, he has put a spell on you!Ó Jenny cried. ÒDonÕt say I didnÕt warn you.Ó She helped me into bed and left angrily, without giving me a loving kiss on the cheek as she usually did.  
  
The following afternoon, George Blue and I strolled down the sandy beach. The day was warm and wet from the recent storm, but the sea was calm, lulled asleep by some distant melody. The breeze gently blew my silk veil that protected my skin from the sunÕs harsh rays and his shoulder length black hair mingled with the blue beard, obscuring his face.  
Perhaps there was a spell on me, because in the couple of hours I spent with this man, he became the most important person in my life. ItÕs possible that it was a simple love spell, performed by a common house witch. It may have been the CaptainÕs dazzling and captivating charms. It may have even been True Love, but I doubt it. Whatever it was, it had lured and caught me successfully.   
George was the ideal hero in my eyes. He was strong, witty, intelligent, handsome, and romantic. When I announced my engagement to my mother, I found she had already planned a June wedding. In a week my future was sold to a man I had just met. And in three months, amongst bouquets of flowers, my youth ended with a brief kiss.  
I suppose I was a little disappointed we couldnÕt go on a wedding trip. My husbandÕs business needed him here. Instead we drove to his gigantic mansion after the wedding and became acquainted with the house. I secretly wondered if it had been the same with the other twelve wives.  
  
ÒHere we are, Cathy,Ó murmured George. We paused in front of our chambers. The door was made of a glossy red wood. An artist has had carved fairies and roses into the frame. My darling, which was my secret name for George, kissed me gently on the cheek and opened the door.  
Inside was a intimate sitting room. Two maroon chairs and a redwood table were pulled up close to a large fire. The floor was covered with a carpet an inch thick and a blood red color. Three rooms were connected to this one. The first was the bedroom. In the middle of one wall there was a gigantic canopy bed, adorned with scarlet satin and cream silk. Another room was a water closet, which had an indoor lavatory that emptied into a waste area, an oversized bathtub, and a stand with the porcelain water pitcher and basin. The last was a breakfast room. It was a lovely room; I could almost taste the beauty. Three windows were on the east wall, where the sun would rise. Plants were scattered around the room, giving it a delicious fragrance.  
ÒDo you like it, my love?Ó he asked me.  
ÒI adore it.Ó I replied.  
We came slowly back to the sitting room, holding hands, and we noticed that a tea had been laid out. Before we retired to bed, we feasted on bread, tiny cakes, fruit, and tea. My life couldnÕt have been more perfect.  
The next morning, after breakfast, my husband gave me the keys to the house. As he handed them to me, he said gruffly, ÒThere are almost a hundred keys there. Take good care of them. Wait a second,Ó he took the key chain back and pulled a key off. He held it up; it was the oldest and smallest key of the lot, the only one made of silver. ÒThis one goes to a room out in my workshops. You must never go there, which is why IÕm taking this back.Ó He placed it on his ring of keys.  
I laughed playfully, ÒWhy may I not go there?Ó  
His eyes rapidly changed from light blue to the metallic gray of steel; his beard glowed a fiery sapphire. I stepped away, taken aback. ÒBecause I told you not to.Ó His voice was hard and firm, and cold as ice.  
I forced a smile, ÒFine, be secretive. ItÕs probably just a gift you are working on for me.Ó His face softened and he put his arm around me. The rest of breakfast was uneventful, but I think the spell on me faded slightly.  
A few months went by. By day I roamed the vast manor, by evening I entertained merry guests and by night I slept in my canopy bed. I was frequently preoccupied with running the house, but when I wasnÕt my curiosity about the forbidden room grew.  
One night in late November, just before the clock struck one, I awoke. Deep in my sleep I had felt a tug of curiosity pull on me so hard my muscles ached. I yearned so to know what was in that forbidden room. I slipped silently out of bed and covered my shoulders with a thick, woolen shawl. I slipped my bare feet into my husbandÕs boots. I made my way to his bedside table. His key chain was in the drawer. I quietly removed it and crept to the hallway. Once there I walked to my husbandÕs workshops, the bootÕs rough leather scratching my skin.  
Clouds hid the moon and stars. The wind was cold and brisk. It tore at my skin and braid as I made my way to the cluster of workshops and warehouses. I finally reached them and began my search for a forbidden room. I tried the key on several locks, but none of them opened. I ended up trying the key on all the doors, and the one it worked on I had already passed several times.  
Inside the room it was dark and musty. I searched around on a desk for a box of flint and steel, and lit a candle. The cloak fell off my shoulders. My heart pounded loudly as I looked around. Beside the desk there was a large, chest like box. I crept over to it, and tried the cold key in my hand on the lock. My heart pounded in my ears, louder then the whistling wind outside. Unwillingly, the lid lifted. Holding the candle up high, I gazed in horror at the contents. It was a man. A dead man. The skeleton was yellow and brown with age. A tattered outfit of dirty blue material covered what was left of the clothing.  
ÒSleep walking my dear?Ó questioned my husband, his voice dripping with malice. I swung round, startled out of my wits. George Blue stood in the doorway, blocking the exit. His face was wet; it must have started raining outside.  
ÒWho is it?Ó I asked, terrified.  
ÒItÕs my older brother. He cheated me at a deal. A few weeks later, he disappeared. Have you heard anything about my other wives?Ó I nodded dumbly. ÒAfter viewing that,Ó he indicated the body, Òthey were discovered at the foot of the stairs. A tragic fall,Ó he said sarcastically. ÒNow I have my own graveyard, which you will soon be part of.Ó   
He came nearer to me. A gust of wind blew through the door; the candle flickered but still burned weakly. I could feel the sensation of his hands groping for my neck in the dim light. I threw the candle at the hulk of a man in front of me. The edge of his shirt caught fire. He brushed at the flame and moved backwards. He tripped over my cloak; I fled as he fell and hit his head.  
I ran out of the workhouses and into the yard. The rain had become sleet. The icy water pounded against me. I lost both the boots I was wearing but continued running barefoot. I felt the horrible chill biting my bare shoulders. The thin nightgown I was wearing was soaked. Wind breathed heavily down my neck. I stumbled around the yard like a lost puppy nobody wants. Salty tears ran down my face. I stumbled into the back door of the house and fumbled with the doorknob until the door swung open. To my surprise no servants questioned me, in fact, I didnÕt see anyone.  
I dashed up the stairs and into our rooms. I lit a candle and located a small dagger. I spent the rest of the night in bed, clutching the dagger and staring at the door. I imagined my husband, recovering from his fall and coming to get me. It reminded me of my childhood nightmares, but I wasnÕt dreaming. I was so frightened I never changed my nightgown, and I shivered through the night. My soaking hair dripped incessantly down my back and onto my satin pillowcase.  
After my sleepless night, I dressed myself when I heard a clock chime 7:00. I somehow knew that my husband was dead, and I forced myself to be calm as I pulled my hair into a bun at the nape of my neck. Before I ate the breakfast laid out for two, still hot, I went downstairs and inquired about my husbandÕs absence. Nobody knew anything about him, and a servant offered to search the grounds.  
I spent the morning nervously awaiting the news of my husbands death. When it came it was administered gently, along with the news of the dead man. I was so Ôovercome by griefÕ I didnÕt even cry. That afternoon I buried my nightgown, dagger, and the key at the beach, deep in the sand.  
I remarried, for my mother and newborn child if not for myself. The man was good and kind, though slightly dull. I delivered six children. The oldest, my daughter, was from my first marriage. She was the most attractive of my children. Her skin was pale, like mine, with dark brown eyes, but her hair was black, so black it almost glowed blue, like her fatherÕs. And no matter how much I love her, in her blood lives malice, whether it ever shows or not depends. . . 


End file.
